UNDERGROUND A&R REPORT

SPIKE RUNS AWAY!

He tests me every day, that Alpha-Omega thing. Those eyes, one blue, one brown, they fire just right when he's on a roll. It is not a time to be weak, he will walk all over you, and he doesn't forget.

What you got? Flesh and bone? He's got those choppers, those paws that got claws. You got size, he's got brute force. He's 8 weeks old.

I never liked to leash a dog, let them run free I'd say. Siberian Husky and American Bulldog mix, whatever? Yeah, whatever.

He was on the edge of the woods. "Spike!" I said, "come in here". He snorted and galloped off into the deep woods. Where 3 inch saw briers climbed, combining with Blackberry vines. A place I could not go.

"Spike!"

He ran on deeper, faster. Over the mountain. Not saying a word, just getting outta sight and streamlining the getaway, he was like greased lightning on the hot rails, he was outta here!

It was about noon. Though a good 100 square yards of thick woods were the place, on almost every side there were residences and subdivisions. I cruised them all, saying since he was a puppy he'd take up with somebody. Knowing he was probably way in those woods, having adventure casserole; with coyotes, wild dogs, poisonous snakes and the lot coming out in this 70 degree temp. But I didn't worry.

About dark, after being out whistling and calling and getting all the canines in the neighborhood barking, I'd hit the 6 hour hunt check in. It wasn't good. Spike was gone!

As the sun faded, I called my sister. Her place was the last vicinity he'd been spotted at, a 2 foot rat running though the underbrush. I told her to keep an eye out, seemed like I'd heard his yelp way back in the woods, over the hill, into the brambles when I'd been out relating the situation via sound waves. She liked the little guy, I knew she'd make a holler or two before bedtime.

I collected his little supplies of toys, and knotted rags, the poor man's gel bone, his favorite blanket he liked to trash, tomorrow I'd throw them into the burn pit. I couldn't stand the smell, his own scent, different for every animal, hanging around if their benefactor wasn't connecting.

I felt like Timmy in that movie Lassie Come Home. 'cept Lassie wasn't vaulting over the ridge. I wanted to believe Spike was beginning his new life with the kids up in the neighborhood, but still I couldn't shake the mental image of him in the brush pile by the side of the path, laughing his ass off while he snoozed and alternated between pooping, peeing, and sleeping, the usual 8 week dog stuff sans USA 2009.

15 minutes later, she called and said she had him. My sister had went out to smoke a cigarette, started calling his name. The spirit did appear. As a very scared little dog who had been out there all day, in the tangled thorns of trinity. Eat Sleep Play replaced with Fear Move Access, the soldier's creed.

Or had he been watching, waiting till "he" was ready.

Never underestimate the dog.